


And the World may float on

by jigsawpuzzle



Category: Finder no Hyouteki | Finder Series
Genre: Anal Play, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Creampie, Double Penetration, Edo Period, Eventual Relationships, Exhibitionism, Fingerfucking, Food Sex, Forced Feminization, Forced Masturbation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Milking, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Rope Bondage, Shameless Smut, Size Kink, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-03-29 08:01:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3888583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jigsawpuzzle/pseuds/jigsawpuzzle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though I go to you<br/>ceaselessly along dream paths<br/>the sum of those trysts<br/>is less than a single glimpse<br/>granted in the waking world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary - Haiku by Komatchi
> 
> Ukiyo-e - "pictures of the floating world"; "this world of sorrow and grief"; "erotic"; "stylish" or the hedonistic spirit of the times. 
> 
> Reference taken, but not strictly adhered to, from the Edo period.

When night fell, it seemed that most people of the town had been ordered to keep silent, compliant with breathlessness as they hurried home and shut their doors, locking it and then checking it again. The children in the square were firmly shooed home, some whining with hunger, fidgeting and incurring their parents' wrath.

As he waved goodbye to the children who had tagged along and clung after him, Takaba Akihito decided that roofless or not, leaving his old village had been the best decision of his life. He’d spent only a day and night here so far, but he had been busy sketching and filling his string-bound book of cheap, grey paper with what he could of its lakes and scenery. He loved the sunlight and the trees in the day, but he also liked evenings. It was a pity that the townspeople seemed to truly believe in the folklore - they wore their superstition almost proudly like coats over their kimono and raised their children to believe the same.

When he had first arrived here, Akihito had wandered around the river bay, trying to catch fish. He had run out of whatever he’d stolen by then and had to find food. He had splashed around and the children had stared with surprise at him, because he was certainly not a child anymore, small-sized though he was.

Anyway, he had made fast friends with the children and plenty of people quite quickly. There were some who didn't seem to mind his shabby clothes and unusual colouring, or the fact that he was a wanderer. Some kids even wanted to stay out with him and sleep in trees, where the stars hung over his head like tiny lamps.

"I want to stay with you!" a child named Chiharu insisted.

"You can't, the night demon will spirit you off!" Her older sister hissed now. "It's going to be moon-less in less than two nights, you know what they say about that! Big brother, you shouldn’t stay out either, you’re pretty and the night demon will try and cut off your nose!"

“Oh, but I’ve already survived  one night outside here.” Akihito grinned. “Let it try to catch me then!” The kids ought to have their legends and stories, but there was no harm to being cheeky about it too.

But the older girl stared at him in dismay. “Don’t dare it, it’ll get you too! You should go home.”

“I’m not afraid of any night demon,” Akihito said obstinately, even though he didn’t believe it for a minute and didn’t have to argue with children. Had this been back there, he wouldn’t have dared to contradict anybody so openly. There was no more angry owner to shake a fist and order him to clean or wash or repair the paper walls quickly when customers got a bit more vigorous.

They stood in the centre of the town square, arguing along what had been the busiest street in the day, but their mother came along and fussed them off, casting a wary side-eye at Akihito.

It was a bit of a pity that he was clearly a half-breed, the mother thought, glancing at the stranger to their town. With looks like that, he certainly put the finest actors around to shame and had attracted plenty of attention. He was beautiful in a way that wasn't specifically male or female, and yet he could have outshone the prettiest of girls around. As he parted his lips in dismay, bidding farewell to her children, she thought that his mouth was so bright and lovely that anyone would have liked to kiss and comfort him. He looked younger than he probably was, but there was a sensuality even to that puppy-like innocence, so much so  that even a pitiless, old hen like her would have liked to have touched his face and drawn him near once. She supposed that one could dream. 

"See you soon!" Akihito waved, as the last of his playmates vanished.

Tomorrow, he would try to look for a bit of work, since it was best to have some money and supplies before moving on to the next town. Perhaps Akihito would show more publishers his sketches and perhaps they would pay him a little for a painting or two. He had already demonstrated his abilities in the afternoon yesterday, and his sketches of some local beauties and kabuki actors he’d watched in the town square were already making its rounds to the publishers. People were perhaps more accepting of him, despite his colouring, because he had a skill and appeared to belong to the artisan class.

As he ambled off, whistling a jaunty tune, he decided that the trees by the river would do well tonight.

This was actually a much large, infinitely snootier town as compared to the remote village that Akihito came from. Money seemed to pour from every wallet and there were the paintings that Akihito loved, everywhere in teahouses and shops and other establishments. There was even a library that he spent many happy hours at, pouring over the bound sheafs of papers and looking for the colours that he had once seen. He longed to draw, paint, create; there was a printing technique here that nobody else had known how to explain to him in the place that he'd escaped from.

But even as the town people here made fun of his enthusiasm at the tiniest innovations and printing equipment available in publishing houses, they thought he was a brave, crazy fellow for choosing to wander around at night. Some joked and dug at him in the ribs, because there were only a few types of people who earned money at night. But they didn't know that Akihito wasn't keen to step foot into the lighted pleasure district of the town, bright and beckoning as it seemed. That would have been pointless when he had spent the better half of his life trying to get away from it. Anyway, he was reaching seventeen and clever enough not to tell them exactly where he came from, although his colouring probably gave it away still. Most of the villages with people like Akihito's mother weren't even put on the official maps ‒ they were always viewed as outsiders and generally treated as not human.

She had been successful in her younger days, but not so successful as to be able to refuse customers like the rich foreigners who were slowly intruding and changing their lands. But the foreigners had been around for quite a while, and so without Akihito offering explanation for his dirty blonde hair and strange coloured eyes in contrast to his exceptionally small-boned frame, most people knew enough to guess. They did, and plenty marvelled at the boy's fair skin, bright hair and doe-like eyes, tapered only at their ends and framed by dark, sooty lashes and his slender, long limbs. His mother had died when Akihito had been almost too young to remember her, but the master of that establishment had informed Akihito that he looked rather like her each time Akihito was punished for something or the other.

The sky drew darker and the sliver of moon faded behind some clouds. It was almost ominous, but Akihito was far more concerned with staring at the silver lines of the river and the mountains further beyond, trying to commit it to memory. One day, he would have something magnificent painted and it would be printed and people would see the world through his eyes, rather than the colour of those.

As Akihito settled in a smaller tree, he looked at the bridge in the distance and sighed. There were the lights and a procession on the bridge, slinking almost dragon-like in length and growing longer yet. It seemed that the folks here were showier and made more of ceremonies in a larger town. He assumed that that was what it was; he could make out faint figures in the general twilight and heard sweet laughter and the plucking of musical instruments. He could already imagine the youths peddling their beauty, careening in the finest robes and beckoning to whoever to join their line and enter the outskirts of the town. No wonder the good woman had hurried her young daughters home.

Akihito shook his head once and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep despite the chilly night. He had grown up in a world filled with night demons; there was nothing to get all jittery about. It was just as well that he had been forced to run from the previous village; there had been enough demons there to last a lifetime.

X

Asami Ryuichi had never professed to being a patient man. He had a good acumen that allowed him to know when to bide his time, but biding it was never easy for someone like him.

Next to him, Kirishima was busy with the abacus, but it was just a little side-show. “Fujiwara-dono, the sums don’t add up correctly.”

“Oh, please, please, next month will be better.” the man dropped to his knees, trembling and babbling. He knew who Asami Ryuichi was and he knew that of all the shoguns, Asami was uncannily clever and could be remarkably cruel. “The whores have not had much business this month; the gambling dens haven’t had many visitors as of late and there have been rising costs-”

The youths lined up at the other side of the large room were visibly frightened. Most didn’t even dare to look up and witness the silhouettes cast by the candlelight inside the owner’s meeting room. They were young and beautiful and they had painted their faces to heighten their features and attract men tonight. They were the more well-received ones in the house, both male and female, and the owner had asked for them to prepare to entertain an extremely important patron. They had been waiting, but they had not expected the owner of the largest night establishment in this town to be interrupted during his inspection. Still, they had heard enough to cower lower than he did, despite none of them having laid eyes on Asami Ryuichi before.

“You asked for my men to protect your businesses and I waived the protection fees as a favour for your management.” Asami said quietly. “But you embezzled and failed to account all profits.”

“Not by much!” Fujiwara cried. He felt the sweat dripping down his neck as he looked at Asami, clad as usual in a grim, completely black robe with no other embroidery or ornamentation.“Oh, please, forgive me, Asami-sama, I have readied this humble establishment to receive you and your men, they are waiting in the room just next to us, please — ”

Asami’s face remained impassive and Suoh, his bodyguard, pulled out a long, wickedly-glinting sword. Only the samurai class were allowed to carry such ones and Suoh with his bastard Russian parentage and blonde hair should not have been able to. But Asami carried one, for he was no simple shogun either and he followed no regulation from another— some said that he controlled the other shoguns and was outside a system that everyone was in. They were correct.

Fujiwara was terrified. “I have other treasures, please –”

With shaking hands, the wretched owner dug his nails into a tile, pulling it up. There was a huge pile of gold and silver there, with jewellery and other invaluable trinkets. But Asami never even spared it a gaze.

“Begin.” Asami said.

His men sprung into action. Suoh yanked out drawer after drawer, smashing down a cabinet to reveal more jewels. The other guards under him were systematically destroying the place. People were screaming in the other rooms and down the other corridor, the servicing whores and their customers hastily ceased their activities and tried to get dressed. Things were going everywhere and Asami stood at the centre of it, the eye of a hurricane.

Then the paper walls were being ripped into as people started trying to get out of the maze of corridors, overturning things in their panic and screaming. A series of books and scrolls were laid into the pile at Asami’s feet, joining the more valuable things. Asami personally couldn’t care less — the loss in profit from the embezzlement was not as important as weeding out the snakes in his organization. Complete loyalty was necessary, and for his betrayal, Fujiwara and his family would not sleep safely tonight.

When almost everything was completely ceased and place in a small mountain before him, Asami turned, ready to leave. Suoh and Kirishima would take care of the rest, collecting the treasures to be sent back and punishing Fujiwara when everything was accounted for.

As Asami surveyed the growing pile with a rather bored eye, he caught sight of something and frowned.

Trapped in a corner was a crumpled piece of paper. It was strange in a pile of thick account books and other beautiful things. Asami did not say it, but he recognized the quality of paper as being exceptionally poor and rough with a mixture of cloth and animal hair in it. It was too common — there were slums that dealt with recycling and sorted such things with the roughest of workmanship. It simply did not belong in this room of treasures.

Kirishima, ever dutiful and with an initiative that Asami had come to expect, bent and fetched it.  

Asami recognized that there was a drawing, rough and sketchy, but undeniably beautiful. It was of a woman in fine robes with clouds around her head, a local beauty, he supposed. But the detail was incredible and the vision to the piece quite astounding. He stared hard at it, the firelight glinting against his countenance, and Fujiwara stole a glance at Asami’s piercing eyes and immediately wished that he hadn’t.

“What is this?” Asami questioned. “Who drew this?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Fujiwara quaked. Still on his knees, he felt Suoh’s sword nudge against his throat and might have wept. “One of the servants passed it to me yesterday, said it was worth commissioning the artist for shunga. For this establishment’s publicity. I never saw the artist myself, I just threw it aside.”

Asami stared at the drawing. He had seen plenty of fine art pieces over the years and owned a few too. But there was something about this one that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. He folded the paper, rough and poor as it was, tucking it into his kimono.

“Find me the artist.”

“O-Oh, yes, Asami-sama, immediately, I’ll start on it -”

Asami turned to the owner, who had tried to scramble up. In the mess and chaos of the place, Asami loomed dark and tall over the cowering person, his eyes cold.

“Asami-sama was not speaking to you,” Suoh grunted, and swung the sword down.

X

In his tree of choice, Akihito slept on, dreaming of raging, golden fires and the discordant snapping of strings.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asami sets a trap and lures Akihito into his lair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, the support just blew me away. Here's the second chapter and brace yourselves, the smut is approaching.

When the morning came and Akihito had washed in the river, he hoped that he would appear a bit more presentable. There were lots of others by the river in morning; bathing, collecting water by a well near the banks, washing, gossiping, the full works, really. Fortunately, he'd woken up far earlier and had the privacy of bathing in the river to himself, large and winding as it was.

He had been plagued by uneasy rest, but that was to be expected with all the stray music floating over the water and over the walled district. When he washed his face, he was critical of his reflection; in his eyes, it revealed something of a boy, more childish than he should have seemed, a bit too thin and somewhat haunted with dark circles. He tried to console himself by mumbling that although he was short, he was actually strong and muscular enough to do manual labour. It was true - he could cook, clean, chop and carry firewood. He even had enough strength to wrestle and overthrow an overly amorous customer who had drunkenly turned his attentions to Akihito that one night, mistaking Akihito for Akihito's mistress. All of that had taken considerable strength, although he would leave the last few specifications out of his resume. Now, he just had to convince others that he was a good worker.   

As clean as he could be, considering his current circumstances, Akihito wandered off the streets, stomach growling. He had sipped from the well because a kind old couple had let him stand there in line. But he had found no luck with fishing. He wasn’t well prepared either. Apart from a small knife that had proven quite useful so far, he had just a coat on a cheap, brown shirt and labourer's pants that he'd nicked. At least, nobody would bother him much here, and he would leave for the next town as soon as he got some money to feel secure.

Along the way to the town centre, he passed a gaggle of children who were on their way to the schoolhouse. He envied them for a minute, but he had not been named for nothing and lifted his chin bravely.

When he headed down to the town square's notice boards, he systematically went from one end to another instead of crowding around like most of the other men and women there, scanning every notice for offers of work. There were the usual posters of wanted people and other criminals. He looked through that quickly and grinned, not finding what he had feared. That was to be expected, however; the wig that he had procured the night of his escape had proven useful in many ways.

When he was done looking at the criminals' portraits, he looked at other notices. There were some calling for manual labourers and clerks; some for shop assistants and some for cleaners. This town was obviously doing well, because there were such jobs in supply and people taking their time to go through those and yank off the notices that they wanted. There were none by publishers, despite all his hopes, but there was a strange notice nailed right in the centre of all the boards. It was not stuck on with rice glue as the others were. In fact, the print on it was large and scripted in the neatest hand that Akihito had ever seen.

Deciding that it must have been done in the night, he squinted up at it, thinking that it was impossible for him to have missed seeing this yesterday. The sheer quality of the paper was an anomaly on the general notice board, because it was the type that only books would have had the luxury of showing. It was white and stark in the centre of poorly-dyed pieces and the message itself was clearer.

There was to be a competition for artists in celebration of a popular maiko's debut as a geisha in one geisha house or another. The winner would be commissioned by the establishment to paint her and it would be made into a print to be circulated to every other village and town within the region. Akihito wasn't so eager about who the maiko was, so long as it was a proper teahouse outside the walls of the pleasure district. Anyway, he had heard enough buzzing from the growing crowd and what they said about the geisha house and its strict clientele of nobles and merchants to decide that this would be enough to get him to the next town and maybe even the next. He wanted to paint sceneries and be good enough to create prints of epic landscapes and nature one day, but depicting beauties and kabuki actors were  _de rigeur_  and he needed money to move along.

He would have reached up to tear the notice down, except that it was meant to remain there for the world at large and he was also too short to reach it.

X

As Momohara Ai - or soon to be known as Kimiha - peeped out behind the screens, beyond the stage and to where the audience and artists were sitting, she felt a nervousness overcome her and gulped. Immediately, she began checking her appearance, but she looked beautiful in a new orange kimono with sprays of red and pink flowers over the shoulders and hems. She had been extremely careful about her hair and her dresser had spent longer than usual adjusting everything and helping her pick out her hairpins. There was a guest who could close the entire house if he was displeased and the mother was barking at everybody to do everything flawlessly. Ai didn't actually know who he was and nobody wanted to talk about it, but everybody was on edge and it was even more stressful this evening.

Actually, she had been lucky that she'd been refined-looking enough to end up as an apprentice geisha, not a common whore whose rough, earthy beauty was good only for touching, not viewing from afar. For a joro, the only way up was the same way down. Ai had often seen the procession down the bridge one late evening, a sensuous, haughty oiran with her collar dipping low and embroidered sash tied in the front, not the back, leading a gold and crimson path into the pleasure districts.

In line with the usual threats of punishment, Ai's older sister had often pointed the oiran out and informed Ai that geishas were lucky to be selling their skills and companionship, because there were far worse things to sell. Still, it was tough perfecting all that her seniors and older sister demonstrated confidently whenever they met officials and rich merchants and whoever it was who had enough to keep incense stick after incense stick burning for hours.

She wasn't the star maiko in this house, for it was an established one with a crafty, entrepreneurial mother and at least five other maikos to compete. This competition wasn't even being held in honour of her debut, because Ai wasn't good enough to be a dancer and merely supported by playing the koto. She was lucky that she could even debut as a geisha at all; she would be relegated to the side of the stage, nearest to the darker section of the hall where about eighty artists would not see her from the corner of their eyes. Anyway, they were there to witness the star maiko take flight in a special dance and any inspiration and painting resulting from this evening would be from and of her.

Resigned but still anxious, Ai crept back. She rubbed her hands together, desperately trying to get the feeling back in her fingers.

X

Even the artists in this snooty town were snooty. Sure, it was a competition, but did people have to be so  _hostile_?

Akihito had been pushed into a dark, almost hidden corner near a pillar. It was a wonder that they even let him in here, but he had made sure to appear clean, so that the burly, scary-looking men guarding this house believed him when he professed that painting and drawing was the core of his trade.

He had never expected this to be so grand, but it was; this was the biggest hall the teahouse had and there were plenty of supposedly important people in this room and a bunch of artists who had seen the notice and decided to engage. Akihito was still surprised at the sheer number who showed up; it was often said that art could not be compared like this and most artists would have balked at having to fight for such commercialisation. But it was a rare opportunity and whoever said no to a free look at gorgeous maikos and the refinement of an exclusive top-tier teahouse where geishas worked?

He snuck a glance around at everyone in the hall, crowded though it was. There were plenty of screens around the choice centre seats in the hall and from this angle and this teahouse was famous for secrecy. It was just impossible to see who sat behind them. There were men skulking around, holding small daggers around their waists, possibly the usual security.

The artists had been rounded to sit by the stage's sides and the rules had been pasted up on another notice inside the teahouse for those who had been admitted - it was  strange that by mid-performance, the artists would have to submit their initial sketches, stamped with their names. No artist was allowed to leave until his sketch, incomplete as it was, had been stamped with the artist's seal and submitted for consideration. It was unusual, because no patron usually wanted the incomplete work or put artists under such time pressure. Some were fretting about how to complete their work by mid-performance.

Personally, Akihito didn't care about what the patron was trying to achieve with having this and having the artists each stamp their seals on a separate piece of paper, since he had already received some money for participating and doing so. It wasn't much, but it would get him to the next town whether he won the engagement or not. Besides, he had always been poor, but at least he was freer than he had ever been. In fact, poverty was somewhat good; it wasn't like he had money to steal anyway. Once he submitted his work for consideration, he would just hightail it out of here and cross the next bridge when he came to it.

The artists who had assembled were a mixed bunch, some poorer and rougher. Some were obviously more renowned and popular, who immediately seated themselves in the prime spots. They argued and talked loudly amongst themselves, discussing this and that and the techniques of one school over another. And Akhito grinned, because he didn't even have a name seal and couldn't call himself an artist yet but would, one day. It was his dream to capture images that would be immortalized.

He could have sat there all day, dreaming about the same things that he had imagined as a child growing up. But the music began and the plucking of strings went straight to his heart. He couldn't see the dancer very well from here - there were the other artists seated in front of him and the other maikos handling the instruments. But there was one maiko, the one closest and completely in his path of sight. She and the others were playing carefully, making sure to keep the rhythm while the dancer went through the slow, graceful motions. She was in a bright orange kimono, a pretty garment for sure, but not as magnificent as the dancer's red one. While he tried to focus on the dancer, he found his eyes going almost inevitably to the maiko in orange. She had practised hard and her hands rippled like water over the strings, but she and the other musicians were just leaves to the flower. He could see her biting her lip in nervousness, her head tilted so shyly away from the light that her dancer counterpart seemed to crave, and his heart went out to the maiko in orange.

Without hesitating, he began drawing.

X

Asami had spent enough years abroad to miss some of the sensibilities and cultures of his home country. At the same time, he was restless and more ambitious than what his country seemed to offer and so he collected what he liked and wanted from each place and brought them back. Dutch paintings, Italian astronomical charts, German sculptures, French anatomical models, English tomes, Chinese brocades; he favoured all and favoured none. He appreciated art as far as it fetched value and had fine taste, but he did not think much of each piece’s aesthetic value as being any more or less than some of the more exquisite shunga in his private collection.

The maiko's dancing was exceptional and Asami would have normally enjoyed this performance more. The incomplete, rough sketch that he'd come across though, unsettled him. As he smoked his English cigar with one hand, he sifted through the stack completed and placed before him, ignoring the ongoing performance's second act.

There had been nothing unique or uncommon about the subject of the previous sketch, but Asami hated incomplete things and he subconsciously despised men who could not finish what they started. Quite apart from the irritation of seeing an incomplete piece of work, there was still a remarkable detail to it that he had never seen from artists within these territories. The study of the local beauty and the meticulous detail of the robe had somehow departed from the sensibilities of the usual paintings and woodprints that had become quite commonplace. Put simply, there was something about it that compelled Asami to want to have the work finished.

He was amused to realize how, overnight, he had become so invested with a capricious whim. But it turned out that this artist's work was inherently distinctive and Asami smiled triumphantly, fishing it out and lifting it to the light.

Again, it was on the poorest quality of paper and there wasn't even a seal with the artist's name. The artist had simply written it in a corner. But it was the same artist alright, and Asami wondered what kind of mad, curious person would focus on a less elaborately-clad, less ostentatious maiko in the corner and draw her bitten lip and hands with such painfully beautiful detail when the flashier star maiko had seized the attention of every other member of the audience.

Still, he did not mistrust his instincts for a single second, because they had been the foundation of all his successes.

"Dismiss all, but bring me Takaba Akihito."

X

Someone shouted something from the centre area, blocked by screens. Then the performance was called to a halt and the maikos and tea servers ushered out through a passage from the backstage. They hurried away like fragments of a colourful dream, their music interrupted and the strings of the shamisen and koto twanging in their haste. It was abrupt and strangely familiar, and Akihito was rudely shaken from his reverie.

A man whose eyes were covered by glass pieces was moving out from the screened area and towards the stage. He turned to face the artists' section, ignoring the swell of anticipation, and Akihito vaguely recalled a shopkeeper having introduced that curious contraption as something the Italians had invented for eyesight. Those glinted, strange and foreign on his face, and when he spoke, he seemed to be looking straight at Akihito.

"My master has made his decision. In the spirit of recognizing all art as being equal, you are all requested to leave, showing your seal to those at the door."

The artists were talking loudly and arguing amongst themselves now, some rising to their feet and throwing their brushes and papers down in bad grace. Some swaggered to the exit, obviously confident that they had been chosen. The men with the swords and smaller daggers held them back at the sole entrance, checking for their seals and letting each one pass without much dispute. But if Akihito had previously ignored them and thought of them as security for the more important guests of the teahouse, he was now alarmed and began rising to his feet too. He felt like an idiot for not using a pseudonym and he was acutely aware that the sword-carrying men were all looking suspiciously at him.

Suddenly, he felt frightened, even though nobody should have known that it was he who had stabbed a man in the previous town.

Some of the more renowned artists were being dismissed and they blocked the entrance, demanding explanation.  Most were happy to show their seals and barge their way out of the tea house, saving what they had left of their evenings. There were nearly eighty artists in the cramped hall and Akihito panicked and gathered his few things hastily, trying to go with them.

He was lost in the blur, trying to move fast, irrationally afraid even though he could not decide why. As he ran past the screens, he caught sight of something behind, through the viewing gap, and he thought he saw the eyes of a tiger, golden and fierce. He had not seen a tiger apart from depictions, but it was exactly how he imagined those to be, gleaming in the darkness. But he had no time to stop and a burly blonde man had emerged from behind the screens and was moving towards him, grabbing onto his arm and saying, "Stop, you haven't presented your seal."

"I have none!" He wasted no time trying to get out of the door, mashing his way through the crowd of artists and cutting the queue to exit.

He was small and was able to slip away despite some armed men pushing out and chasing after him, yelling about presenting his seal- he was a bit too distinctive with his hair, but it was already dark and he made it all the way to the end of an alley, scrabbling up the wall and towards the river banks, running and dodging past people who were going in every direction. There were men still chasing behind him, but he turned a few corners, shaking them off.

And somehow, he'd ended up on the side closer to the largest bridge - where the evening procession was taking place. It would be a perfect guise with so many people on the bridge, even though he hadn't expected to cross this particular bridge and the district that it led into. But he didn't have much of a choice, since he was running out of breath.

As he ducked behind some servants who were carrying a palanquin, he tried to look like he was part of the procession and carried on steadily while the music continued, loud and boisterous as it was, attracting all to look at the oiran leading the procession. It was tragic irony that he was leaving this town in a manner that made him appear to return to the pleasure district that he'd escaped from, but against his will, he was being drawn into busy, rowdy streets. Much like the previous town and somehow completely different in scale and vibrance, there were crowds of unruly men pressing against bamboo screens; cages where colorful birds called and sang out with carmine lips and pulled their robes a little higher as they'd been instructed to.

Akihito shuddered at the familiarity and looked down at his feet and worn-out sandals. Then he fingered the money in his sleeve and would have laughed at the adventures that he'd been having, except that there was a sudden movement at the corner of his eye and something was pressing around his mouth and nose.

He cried out, but his protest faded fast with his consciousness.

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geisha - female performers skilled in dancing, singing, making conversation, as opposed to courtesans  
> Joro - whore, not necessarily a courtesan  
> Oiran - the highest ranking courtesan who was usually skilled in the arts  
> Shunga - a type of erotic woodblock print received by the masses and privileged classes; most artists, including Hokusai, made shunga at some point in their career and it did not affect their prestige adversely.  
> Why Asami smokes English cigars - because this is a historical, period piece and Dunhills are English and Dunhills didn't exist as a brand then.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deed is done.

As instructed, Suoh interrupted the procession with as little damage as one could hope for. That was to say that he had charged up to the procession on his horse with Asami’s blessing, forging ahead of the carriage that could not go on the bridge as swiftly as a single horse and its rider. There was only one entrance to the wall district with a bridge and river between that of propriety and that of the most vivid, delectable human pleasures – the oiran’s procession was its current connection.

From Suoh’s elevated position, he had spotted the bright hair – a paler colour than his own. From his previous experiences and training, Suoh had been prepared to kill Takaba Akihito just for running, but Asami had given clear instructions to capture, not eliminate.

Throwing himself off his horse, whereby it was well-trained enough to turn and head back to the carriage and the other horses, Suoh moved into the procession, readying the handkerchief that Asami had handed him. The troublemaker didn’t even sense Suoh’s stealth - thanks to the chemicals that Asami had brought back from his studies abroad, Takaba Akihito was put into a dead faint. He hadn’t even had a chance to put up a real struggle. He simply just collapsed and Suoh grabbed him, holding him upright.

Then the person behind Suoh bumped into him and looked up, dropping his drum with a clatter and finally realizing that there were people in the crowded procession who didn’t actually belong in the employ of any hanamachi. Takaba Akihito might have succeeded in joining the parade on the basis of his small stature – the same could not be said of Suoh, who cut into the ranks like a walking fortress. At Suoh’s interruption, others had now noticed and the chain of people fell into disarray, stopping the drums and music. The oiran at its lead was startled and turned, but Suoh had already thrown the unconscious Takaba Akihito on his back and was retreating.

While Suoh trudged his way back heavily but swiftly to the other end of the bridge, Asami lifted the curtain of his horse carriage, viewing everything with much interest.

Asami had somehow caught a glimpse of Takaba Akihito as he'd fled, trying to get out of the teahouse for reasons that Asami wasn't clear of or concerned with at this point in time. Who knows, perhaps the boy had sensed trouble in staying. Takaba Akihito certainly wouldn't have been wrong. But Asami did not want to harm Takaba Akihito just yet – he hadn’t decided that this entire exercise would be as specific as that.

“Asami-sama.” The oiran, Hananoka, had paused the parade and followed, slowly, although gracefully, after Suoh. She and every entity of this town was just as much Asami's person as Suoh was his subordinate, and paying her respect was necessary. Despite her status as the top-ranking courtesan in this district, she had abandoned the parade’s lead to personally come to the end of the bridge, where the horse carriage had paused. With her assistant’s shoulder at her hand, her feet on elevated, darkly-lacquered geta, she bowed low with much difficulty and some assistance; as low as she could possibly do so in her rich, heavy robes and chiming hair ornaments.

“It’s been a while.” Asami said.

Hananoka looked at him and saw that his years of travelling had defined him even more since their last meeting – he had cut his hair and was wearing it shorter, like those foreigners. It revealed his eyes and strong features even more, and his Western clothes strangely suited him as much as the local attire did. It was a good thing that Hananoka didn’t believe in love or affection; he did not open the carriage door nearest to her and it was clear that he harboured no intention of crossing the bridge tonight.

Instead, he took in a deep breath of his cigar, irreverently exhaling smoke patterns and ignoring the entire parade that was bowing, nervous and waiting. “I may have to trouble your goodself and Okano in the near future.”

Considering Asami’s general absence and rumours of migration, it was natural for those who saw the man and recognised him to be alarmed at his occasional appearance. It was known to those with any understanding of the area that his personal visitations to these streets were never really for pleasure, just business. Those that forgot who was in control were sent gentle reminders, just like Fujiwara of late.

“It would be our privilege to assist, Asami-sama.” She remained with her head bowed – the head of the hanamachi, Okano, would certainly have done the same, if not prostrated himself. Slyly, she peered through her eyelashes at the figure that Asami permitted to be deposited into the carriage, next to him.  

Really, she had been groomed to make the most influential men fall silent and the sons of noble families swoon, offering themselves and their wealth at her feet. She hadn’t actually expected someone to faint so properly. Then again, while she wasn’t familiar with the full details of this and certainly did not wish to be, she would have advised the unconscious person that his efforts were better spent praying in the nearest shrine than offending Asami Ryuichi.

“I apologise for the interruption.” Asami told her. “We will be on our way.”

“As you wish, Asami-sama.”

Then Suoh mounted his horse and rode off into the distance, scouting the path out. At Asami’s curt nod, Kirishima cracked a whip to start the carriage. Asami’s men on foot and those on other horses followed and they were soon gone, the sound of hooves and wheels fading and dissolving into the darkness as abruptly as Asami and his men had arrived at the entrance of the pleasure district.

Hananoka remained on a bent knee until they were completely out of sight, ignoring the nervous mumbling and curious whispers of her assistants and followers. Then she raised herself up and started again, moving to lead the procession like a moth spreading its wings of glitter and lust, luring men on the other side of the bridge to follow into the walled district. The ever-growing parade would cross, returning into the night world of ravishing courtesans, wine and sweet, twisted dreams.

Coolly elegant and a master of manipulation as she was to all who sought her, Hananoka would always remember the first time that Asami Ryuichi had engaged her services all those years ago and every subsequent time thereafter. She only hoped that the beautiful child, slung like a hunted deer over Suoh’s shoulder, would survive whatever Asami had to offer him.

X

When Asami laid the boy down in a tumbling heap, flipping him over easily with a single hand, Asami was struck for a second time at the almost angelic features glinting beneath the grime and dirt. With a little bit of cleaning up, the boy’s face was almost pretty; he had a tapered chin and perfect little nose, hair soft with silver blonde tufts, almost like the boy had hacked at it on his own.  The unruliness of that soft, fair hair only charmed Asami more. Perhaps he’d eschewed wearing it in a long knot to avoid attention to its unusual colour.

And what attention Takaba Akihito would receive.

Those wide, grey-blue eyes were shut in a dead faint, but it only served to emphasise the delicate sweeping of his eyelashes across fair cheeks and the pouting, rose-like mouth and cupid's bow. On closer inspection, the boy wasn't such a young child, small and reckless as he was with his features cast in permanent miniature. To take his time studying the captive, Asami had ensured that the room was warm enough, closed off as it was from his main quarters. It was fairly sparse with just a few structures and cabinets and the sounds of Asami pulling open drawers and selecting his favourites echoed through the air. Locked away in the innermost section of Asami’s stronghold, deeper than the other rooms, nobody would hear anything.

The boy's eyes had caught and challenged his through the screen for that split-second. There had been a wildness and carelessness in such a young face. Nobody had put up a fight or chase in a long time. No matter – he needed the workout anyway, and as it appeared, there was quite a prize.

Now, Asami bound his captive’s hands above that fair head with the iron cuffs that he kept in his drawers, stringing his arms up with a steel chain. A leather harness made for restraining patients during operations was fetched and adjusted around the boy’s shoulders; that would keep his upper body upright and open for Asami’s inspection. Then Asami fetched a small iron bar and ankle binds that went between the boy’s feet to keep his luscious thighs apart; Asami had studied both the West’s medical innovations and Chinese medicine and so kept his cabinets well stocked with plenty of instruments and tools from both traditions.

Like this, it provided Asami a better view of the puckered opening, blushing and small, pressed  like pouting lips receiving a kiss. The boy could have made a good courtesan for some of the lords and high-ranking samurai quite easily, save for any possible aversion to his being of foreign descent and that careless upkeep of his hair and hands. No matter; Asami found himself charmed by the masculinity and puckishness of Takaba Akihito as much as he was by those parts of slenderness and fragile beauty. 

A damp rag and some water had been fetched for cleaning the boy's face and neck, and then short work was made of the coarse, workman's clothing. Under the dim, sepia lights of candles and some glass oil lamps, it was obvious that the boy's clear beauty would not have been out of place in the quarters that the procession had entered. Asami hadn’t expected the target to be so young and attractive and for this turn of events to be unfurling. But Takaba Akihito had brought this about by fleeing, trying to get away before Asami’s men could question him, and Asami would not tolerate such behavior.

Exposed to the water that cooled off his flesh, Takaba Akihito was beginning to stir a little. Asami slapped his cheek lightly and it was all it took for Takaba Akihito’s eyes to flutter open. Groaning once, he shook his head like a poor little goldfish, confused and pink mouth opening into a small ‘oh’.

Asami rolled up his sleeves. It was just as well that Asami had chosen to don European attire tonight – it was tapered to horse-riding. The riding crops could wait, but there were plenty of other implements if that would convince the boy of his place – anything else wasn’t the point of today’s excursion. He took the rest of the water, warm as it was, and smirked as he emptied it over Takaba Akihito to wake him up properly.

Then Akihito sputtered, gasping as his vision focused more quickly than he had prepared for. When he had a clear look at the face before him, Akihito gaped, speechless for a good few moments. 

He knew he was chained to something, arms held above his head, and he realised that he was sitting on some kind of mahogany desk with a frame, as bare as the day he was born. This man was dangerous, and as frightened as Akihito was at being caught, he was even angrier at being bound and stripped like this. It was obviously an intimidation tactic and it brought back plenty of bad memories of being stripped, doused with cold water, tied and beaten whenever he had made mistakes in the past.

“Ah, so you’re awake, Takaba Akihito.”

“Who are you?” Despite his best efforts to remain calm, Akihito was beside himself with panic. 

Those hard, pitiless eyes held his, burning and gazing into him, then traced a path southwards. “Asami Ryuichi.”

Akihito gaped again at that chiselled jaw, the inky hair and most unsettling of all, the golden gaze. The children had warned of the night demon who spirited people away, but he thought that it had been a story, spun to keep children out of the streets at night and safe from trouble. This dark-haired man, dressed in the hard lines of a foreign devil’s clothes and smelling of bittersweet smoke and tobacco, had probably served as inspiration – Akihito’s instincts told him to stand and run, but he could not feel his hands or feet. He began to struggle, succeeding only in thrashing about.

“What do you want?” Akihito hissed. It was confusing and he tried not to show how terrified he was. “I haven’t done anything to you! You can't tie me up like this - the authorities will get you!”

Asami just laughed. There was no point explaining that every man, woman and child, not least the authorities of this town, were part of the map under his influence. The boy would learn that on his own eventually. Besides, there was no issue of willingness to be questioned here, unlike those long-winded, philosophical debates that people abroad had gone on and on about; here, there was dominance, and there was submission. There was weakness and there was power. He was powerful, and Takaba Akihito, for all his snapping, was weak. That was all. 

“I thought I’d grant your wish.” The bastard bent down, lips thinning. “Provide you employment and remuneration for your efforts.”

“I don’t understand!” Akihito was properly afraid now; he thought that somebody had found out about his fraud and attack of his mistress’ customer in the previous town and that he was about to be tortured. He thrashed about harder, panting with exertion, trying to hide his anxiousness with his struggles.

 “I arranged to meet the person who had drawn these.” Grey slips of paper were produced and fluttered down, settling between Akihito’s spread thighs. If Asami saw Akihito’s deep blush, Asami only smirked. “I had hoped to commission a complete painting and possibly, provide patronage.”

It was Akihito’s work alright, but it was just better to deny everything for now. From what he could guess, he'd walked into some trap; maybe the authorities of the other town had threatened Kou and Takato and looked at his mistress’ things. Maybe they’d found out that Akihito loved drawing and worked out that she gave him paper and ink to draw – maybe the vengeful man and his followers had already understood the full extent of Akihito’s ruse after he'd near-killed that customer for ruining his mistress. Maybe, they'd realised that her sketches were really her servant's, and so they'd set a trap in this town to identify him by his drawings. This Asami Ryuichi was probably one of them sent to kill him.

“I don’t know about this!” Akihito spat, lying, prepared to deny everything. But Asami ran a hand against his face, large and rough, fingers somehow long and graceful, pressing against Akhito’s bottom lip and smiling indulgently as Akihito was forced to suck a little on his thumb.

"But you do know. You drew them. I want you to complete them."

Akihito could feel his stomach twisting. He was confused, because he wasn't sure what was going on now. Meanwhile, his heart wouldn’t stop pounding and he could see himself rise and swell when Asami bent down, surveying the drawings and with his breath warm on Akihito’s thighs and that throbbing region of nerves. Surely this man was some sick bastard who was going to torture him, and Akihito began his struggling afresh.

“So beautiful.” Asami said softly, pressing a finger down to pin the papers and watching as Akihito bit back his breath and flinched. His voice would be difficult for Akihito to forget, dark and astringent, the suggestion simmering and coiling in the air between them. “Every detail – it made me look, over and over again.”

Flushing with the compliment and the equal parts suggestion, Akihito’s vision was blurring again – almost like he was still suffering some effect of whatever they’d put around his nose and mouth. A lock of Asami’s dark hair was tumbling over his forehead as he bent lower, seeming to study the drawings, seemingly oblivious to the way Akihito’s cock twitched and grew and began to curve up to his belly. Akihito wanted to reach out and flick away that lock of hair – he wanted many things that he couldn’t define properly or speak of; he wanted to move away, but he wanted that hard, cruel mouth around his cock, he wanted to kill the bastard and he wanted to kiss that same mouth; he wanted so much and he didn’t know what he wanted anymore.

“If you had the right guidance.” Asami was saying. “You would take flight. Everybody would see this; they would know how talented you were.”

Everything felt too warm and too cold and Akihito hissed softly. He flung his head back, unconsciously exposing his throat, trying to breathe and to clear his head. He didn't understand Asami - not really; he was beginning to suspect that he wasn't as well-informed as he thought he was. 

“But you're so young.” Asami looked directly into his eyes and smiled that strange smile. "So much potential to be shaped. And yet, nobody would think twice to throw these scraps into a fire."

Akihito’s eyes widened. “What?”

“These scraps would be an insult to others,” Asami said, a little cruel in enjoying the flush of colour and anger that he'd expected the boy's cheeks to show. Takaba Akihito was indubitably beautiful, if a bit undernourished – he was willowy in proportion and milky-skinned, exotic in his colouring and really quite attractive overall. His bottom was curiously rounded and fleshy, a ripe peach with that lovely split down to its pit, and Asami’s lips thinned with pleasure at the sight of his pale pink nipples pebbling, exposed, and the petite, growing hardness between the boy’s legs. With each harsh word, Takaba Akihito seemed to be reacting exactly to how Asami wanted.

"They aren’t scraps!" Akihito cried. He had been leaning back, feeling faint, but now he sat up as much as he could, for his anger pulsed through him and made him feverish. It was illogical, being bound and made entirely vulnerable like this, but Akihito wasn’t unfamiliar with intimidation tactics and would not let that detract from the offense he took to Asami’s words.

Asami straightened up, holding the papers and crumpling them carelessly. "Frankly, most would say that these are worthless."

“Damn you, Asami!”

"Oh, but any person who professed to love art would have ripped this apart. My men should never have let you into the hall - you insulted the opportunity with such poor quality materials." The boy was so prettily bound, despite his struggling and the vigorous rise and strain of his muscles against the rope and insults. Asami had not felt such stirrings for a long time; the spread of the bound figure was quite a vision. He circled Akihito, committing each bristle and twitch to his memory.

Then bending to speak right into Akihito’s ear, Asami whispered, “I wouldn’t even use this to wipe you off a table.”

And it was almost too good to stop, so Asami goaded gently and insistently, watching Akihito strain even more, his eyes dilating with pain and humiliation, cock getting harder, tip pearling and skin flushing. Soon, Asami promised himself, he would make those cheeks bloom and those eyes glimmer with tears of another kind. He wanted to take his time, savouring every response Akihito had, every blossom of pain and emotion that flooded to the surface – everything was laid out for Asami now, if only he would just take it.

"If you must criticise my work, then criticise my skill!"Akihito was quite sure that Asami Ryuichi wasn't a simple man, but he had never been bogged down by honorifics or making sure people didn't underestimate him. As such, he didn't mince words either. Powerful and influential or not, Asami was just another bully and Akihito had dealt with people like that for all his life. Bristling with indignation, Akihito bared his teeth. "Besides, short of stealing book paper and pigments, what else could I do? I draw the way I draw!"

Asami only laughed, low and rumbling. It did strange things to Akihito's lower belly, but Akihito believed it was fear. "So you are claiming that you have skill, and that the selection of paper and the quality of materials have held you back?"

"I may not be the best, but I've never let anything hold me back!" Akihito declared, ignoring the irony of his powerlessness at this point in time. “Even if you torture and kill me, I’ll never be ashamed of my work!”

He watched Asami's lip curl at his response and should have felt even more slighted. But that single movement in the cool countenance was distracting, because Asami was a startlingly handsome bastard with a strong jaw and a muscular physique, clear and obvious even through the thick material of his foreign clothes. At this proximity, Akihito could smell a spicy scent on him, probably some imported aftershave that wasn't merely soap. When he bent closer to scrutinize Akihito, Akihito glared back, not easily cowed.

"Any supply of any materials you need will be provided then." Asami said, smiling. "For you to prove your skill. You may want to finish what you currently have – I suppose that would be a start."

"I don't understand what you’re saying and I won’t take orders from you." Akihito snapped back. He began struggling again for all its futility; he wanted his point to be made. "For that matter, I don't understand why you're doing this. If you want to kill me for offending you with my terrible work or my attitude, I can't stop you. But I haven't done anything wrong, so I’ll continue as I please!"

"Then do as you please. But I must warn you: as a patron, I expect the best, so I provide the best." Asami voice was so soft and full of promise that Akihito swallowed, helplessly enticed. “Complete your drawing; prove that you have your skill. Work on what I ask of you – accept my patronage and you’ll create things that you never dreamed you were capable of. You’d have everything that you’d require.”

If Akihito had some pigments, or even colour! He could imagine doing what he loved, breathing another layer of life into the images of his mind and eye. He was already running out of paper, cheap as it was, and even if he was in the next town, there was no guarantee that he could find enough employment and funds to continue drawing, let alone painting. To be supplied whatever he wished! The idea terrified and exhilarated him and he looked into those deep, golden eyes, fighting back a tremor. His voice shook, but he faced Asami bravely.

“What if I agree?”

He was rewarded with a nip to his ear, a warm, wet tongue slipping past the delicate curved lobe. “You’d receive a reward, of course.”

“Then release me.” Akihito said boldly, quite convincing in tone despite his muffled gasp and obvious trembling. “I cannot work like this.”

“Release you?” The demon laughed. “You’d run away too quickly. But I agree, you can’t concentrate now, not in your worked up state.”

Akihito frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“What’s this?” The demon’s voice was amused. His palms ghosted across Akihito’s chest, and then his fingers found and tweaked Akihito’s pale pink nipples hard and cruelly. As Akihito gasped, pleasure and discomfort coursing through him and pooling down to his erection, Asami reached down to his thighs, grasping him and running a rough thumb over the head. “You’re already hard?”

Akihito protested, but it sounded like a whine even to his own ears. “N-no –”

“Little slut.” Asami’s breath was warm by his ear and Akihito cried out wordlessly, mindlessly thrusting into the tight, steady grip that had formed around his cock. It was so good; nobody had ever done this – those fingers were tight and warm around him and he was scarcely aware of his surroundings. His climax was so near and it had been so long – he could remember his mistress, delicate and seemingly weak as she was, fighting and climbing over her customer, riding and dominating him, taking him deep within her, those rich robes pooling around her like a bird’s plummage, her breathy, filthy encouragement as that man had moaned and cursed, thrusting up over and over again, unaware that little Akihito was watching through a crevice in the screen.               

“Oh, but I’m not letting you finish yet.”

Asami had suddenly stopped. There was a sound of something sliding open and being shut sharply, something being fiddled with and the soft spill of a cold liquid over his thighs. It jolted him, but Akihito could barely open his eyes – he felt weaker than ever and sank back, lying against the desk, his hips still trembling and bucking.

He had been so close – it had never been so real. He had palmed himself a few times after that incident, but then his mistress had caught him and slapped him over and over again, face mottled with anger, pain and even shame. She wasn’t much older than him, but she had been his mother’s younger sister in the scheme of hierarchy and had succeeded his mother’s name; he called her ‘older sister’ and she tried to make him blind to the world that she lived and thrived in. He couldn’t remember touching himself after that, not ever again. It was almost as if he had forgotten or chosen to forget everything around him, serving his mistress in that hazy, floating world. The tears were filling his eyes now, and in horror at the flood of the memories, he tried to blink them back.

“Never been teased down here, have you?”

Weakly, Akihito tried to say something, but Asami was putting aside a small silk cloth that had been soaked in alcohol, drawing out a long, golden pick and setting a blob of cold cream from a jar on its end. At least, that’s what Akihito assumed it was – it looked like a blunt needle and he stared at it, eyes widening. Asami bent, gripping Akihito again, then dragged his tongue gently against Akihito’s crown, looking into his eyes with a strange tenderness as he dabbed the cold cream on and fitted the tiny knob of the pick into Akihito’s slit, rolling the beaded end around, easing it into Akihito’s slit. Akihito couldn’t look away and he cried out, tears prickling and clinging to his eyeslashes.

“Crying already?” Asami murmured. He stroked Akihito’s length carelessly and roughly. One of these days, he would have the boy like this, helpless and trembling like leaf against the frame, but then he would take the boy with his mouth; have the boy's pleasure pool over and drench Asami's tongue like the finest sake for tasting. “I’ll be good to you now.”

For the moments thereafter, Akihito was in pure agony. He had tried to look away, but he had been unable to while Asami watched him twitch, teasing the golden rod into him and dipping it and pulling it out again, penetrating his most tender opening, inch by inch, tormenting him. It felt so strange; but it was so good and Akihito felt himself tensing, every core muscle shuddering. He curled his body up, the precum and seed clogged in him, the bead at the end of the rod pressing against his tip, the rod as far as it would go. His cock ached badly and his balls were swollen – he whimpered, wanting to cum so badly. He had been sitting on the desk for what felt like hours, too weak to struggle, frozen in equal parts discomfort and that awful, searing pleasure. While the needle was inside him, his base had been tied with a thin leather cord and his thighs were tied shut to have his rear squeeze and hold a thick wooden phallus that Asami had produced from another drawer and made him suck.

Asami just stood across him, admiring the view and smoking one of those cigars again. It was a bittersweet smell and it flooded Akihito’s nose. He wanted to cough – to scream or cry out, to ask to be left alone – but Asami had coolly eaten half an apple and placed the other half between Akihito’s lips and teeth, gagging him. Akihito was flushed and throbbing, unable to finish, unable to struggle as Asami calmly reached to the wooden length and thrust it in hard and roughly a few more times, stirring and stretching Akihito.

Akihito cried out, muffled and wanton, the apple’s juices streaking down the sides of his mouth, over his chin and onto his neck and chest. He watched, dazed and gasping, as Asami bent down and licked it all up, laving his tongue against Akihito’s nipples, giving them a thorough suckling and biting until they were a debauched, cherry red.

“I had wanted you to finish your art.” Asami said. “But now I see that there are other forms of completion.” He moved to Akihito’s side, studying him still. “This is work that you like, isn’t it? Perhaps you’ll have some ideas for your future assignments.”

He reached to Akihito’s lips, removing and setting aside the apple. The boy was so perfectly bruised, Asami thought. So sweet and addictive, waiting to be picked. He watched as Akihito’s eyes blinked once, unfocused and yet still defiant.

“My work has nothing to do with you.” Akihito managed. His eyes fell to the side, where the crumpled drawings were, and a shiver passed through his thin shoulders. “Give them back to me.”

“You did ask.” Asami murmured. “Alright then, I’ll return those.”

He brought a hand to Akihito’s sweetly dribbling, wet lips, dampening his fingers and bringing them to the boy’s entrance, removing the dripping wooden phallus and smiling at the stretched muscle and widened opening. Even as Akihito cried out, Asami slipped and prodded his middle finger forward, stirring at Akihito’s insides and finding the knot that made Akihito arch up, every muscle in his body tingling. The index followed, brushing the same spot, and Akihito gasped, eyes squeezing shut. But the wooden phallus had loosened him sufficiently, and a third followed easily. Admiringly, Asami gazed at the tear-streaked cheeks and tilted Akihito’s chin up.

“When I see a cheeky boy like you, I can’t help but want to play with him.”

“Damn you,” Akihito whispered. His eyes were shut, mouth strained, but he was lovely, so lovely that Asami found himself pressing his mouth down to meet the sticky sweetness, claiming it all for himself and pulling the thin arms up so forcefully that Akihito was nearly yanked from the desk. It was a kiss that surprised Asami; he felt as if he had invaded the boy’s very bones, pulling a true response from him as Akihito somehow kissed back, panting and letting Asami explore his mouth. It unsettled Asami and he pulled away, surveying the trembling, shaking Akihito.

Then Asami let go of his chin, reaching to the leather cord and yanking it hard, forcing every ounce of seed to boil, rushing to Akihito’s tip as he screamed, sharp and begging. But he was stoppered, his essence unable to spill from his plugged slit and clogged in his throbbing, nearly purple length. By now, Akihito was gasping and crying openly, and it melted the last of Asami’s resolve.

Snapping part of Akihito’s binds away and undoing part of his own, Asami slipped beneath his captive and arranged the pale, panting form onto his lap. Akihito was nearly slipping into a faint, eyes and mouth wet, that pretty cock stiff and heavy as Asami stroked it. Asami should have let him go then, but that rear was still gripping tight around Asami’s fingers and dripping with juices. That was when Asami threw caution to the the wind – Takaba Akihito was too good to let escape now.

“Come here,” Asami murmured. “Let me hold you.”

 He resumed fingering the boy’s tight little opening, enjoying the way it sucked in his fingers and Akihito’s weak struggling, eyes widening at the feeling of Asami’s girth and length pressing against his opening. Then when Asami was sure the boy was ready, he prodded greedily, negotiating roughly to adjust his tip in. For all that preparation and loosening, Akihito was still incredibly tight – Asami moved his hips in tiny, circular motions while tugging at Akihito’s nipples, enticing Akihito to open up to let him further inside.

Akihito’s cries were wordless, begging Asami to stop and go on at the same time, but Asami bore the temptation to plunge in completely and ream that beautiful body until half of Asami was in – it was so tight and warm; Asami wanted to be careful not to lose control so easily. He twisted the boy’s head to catch his mouth again, and Akihito sighed into the kiss, so distracted with all the sensations of Asami’s attentions at his chest and mouth that he barely resisted as Asami eased fully into him.

Only then did Asami began to move in earnest.

Akihito was gasping, writhing and making those delicious little cries even as the wooden desk bore the impact of their movements, dull thumps echoing through the room. It was clear that his body was responding wonderfully to Asami’s ministrations, absorbing both the pain and pleasure of taking the thick length so deep inside. For his honesty, Asami rewarded him with two slicked fingers to suckle on and Akihito sank further down, admitting more of Asami and squeezing tight around. It was almost more than either could bear, Asami buried to the hilt and Akihito writhing so beautifully.  But Asami soon flipped him over and thrusted rapidly, sharp and forceful, gripping Akihito’s forearms for leverage – it felt so good, but fucking the boy was an easier business than getting lost in the sensation of breeding his moist cavern and relishing the trembling sighs of his lovely throat. It was enough to plow into Akihito's tight rear, twisting and stirring him up, and it didn’t take long for Asami to feel himself swelling, boiling and reaching the tipping point and he undid the leather cord. Then he reached to the rod in Akihito’s length, twirling it once slowly to hear Akihito babble nonsense, nearly screaming, before drawing it out fully.

Akihito’s voice rang out in the air – three sweet little syllables, garbled in lust and pleasure that Asami committed to memory, for it redefined him and what had been his name.

X

It was a pity to have missed seeing all of it, Asami thought a bit later, smoking his final cigar of the day while stroking the boy’s fair hair. Asami would have liked to witness the full display of Akihito’s climax, that stream of hot seed spurting in a perfect arc over his abdomen and painting his chest with streaks of creamy white as Asami hit that perfect spot over and over again. Yet, Asami had been locked in his own release, fighting back an oath as he shot his load deep inside, feeling it flow into his boy’s passage, flooding the secret place that he was certain nobody had ever taken.

Akihito had grown, if possible, even tighter around Asami. It had taken no further motivation for Asami to ride out their orgasms as Akihito moaned and writhed, falling unconscious even while Asami continued moving and thrusting up in him. Akihito may have disengaged, but his body was certainly still aligned to Asami’s every movement. Even then, Asami had taken a while longer to be completely satisfied – with a leer that Akihito was fortunate no to see, Asami decided that they would certainly have to work on Akihito’s stamina.

Then Akihito had fallen over when Asami had released him, undoing the steel and leather harness. Akihito had slept through the bath that Asami drew for them, and now clean, he snored quietly and blissfully in Asami’s arms like a warm kitten, a tiny smile playing around those swollen lips. No matter; there were the days ahead and Asami would schedule his time to include this compound, where Akihito would take residence.

It wasn’t like Asami to be so rash about his decisions – every tryst and every meeting in the past had been a scheduled and with partners more experienced and willing than this boy. With his power and influence, Asami had never subscribed to any particular consideration for his partners, but his preference for enthusiastic partners often meant the selection of completely willing ones. Most would not have fought Asami at all; there was simply no point in the face of Asami’s dominance. Akihito had been the only one to ever show any sign of resistance, but in the end, the boy had taken and welcomed him, too swept up in the wave of pleasure and physical sensation.

Still, Asami suspected that Akihito’s innate feistiness would be apparent in the morning. Perhaps Akihito would have been just as willing if Asami had wooed him slowly and sweetly with fine things and gentle words; perhaps not. Perhaps someday, Akihito would come to understand that the haste with which Asami had acted tonight was well-justified in Asami’s mind. Whatever the case, Asami would not let him go; he did not want to let the boy out of sight. If Asami was correct, Kirishima would have already finished preparing the quarters where Akihito would live, performing and producing the most beautiful visions only for Asami.

Asami adjusted himself quietly and gently, although Akihito was so deep in slumber that it would have scarcely made any difference. Smiling, Asami thought that of all the sceneries and images that he had laid eyes on, this was the closest to perfection. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akihito rationalises. Asami pursues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely reviews and all your support so far. I swear, I have so many ideas on this, so cheers to more chapters.

“Go! Go! Go!”

Akihito cheered aloud as the horse he’d bought cantered forward. The soreness of his thighs and ass, however, made his cheer a bit more short-lived. He winced, gripping a bit harder on the reins, slowing down just a little.

Finding a horse hadn’t been so difficult after all, thanks to the intricate silver bauble he’d stolen. Nor had slipping past the guards been that tedious, since Akihito had cleverly knocked one out and dressed like him. Akihito wasn’t going to be treated like somebody’s rent boy, no siree!

Akihito grinned again, congratulating himself on having escaped Asami Ryuichi’s stronghold so smoothly. So much for the power and influence the man supposedly wielded. While he had been hurrying to leave the town, Akihito had made some general inquiries with the townspeople – their reactions to having Asami Ryuichi’s name mentioned had only confirmed Akihito’s growing understanding that Asami was in charge of this town and had connections to the yakuza. Sure, they’d described him as the wealthiest merchant who apparently came from noble stock and had even the Emperor’s favour, but Akihito was good at escaping and this just provided more reason to get out of the town. It was a shame; he would have liked to meet the children by the riverside again.

All things considered, Asami confused him dreadfully and Akihito did not like to be confused; Asami was supposed to be a villain and ruffian, but Asami had fed him well and gave him the finest paper and pigments to work with. He never struck Akihito, unlike Akihito’s previous employers, but drew them baths in an adjoining room to Asami’s quarters with a curious, porcelain tub that Akihito found he loved soaking in, even when Asami was rough in taking his pleasure on those evenings. The first morning that Akihito had woken, sore and throbbing in places that he didn’t even realise existed, he found himself alone, swathed in silk sheets. But those eyes from the night before, mocking and distant, had haunted him.

As the horse cantered on, hooves striking small clouds of dust, Akihito urged it forward desperately, like his life depended on leaving this town. In truth, Akihito was optimistic that running would free him from the memory of those golden, golden eyes – the way that those steady hands had held and tuned him like a musical instrument. 

Later in the day, when Akihito was in the next town and had paid a bit of money to an innkeeper to have a room, he requested that the horse be led to a stable to be fed and watered well. There was no telling when Akihito would need to be on the run again. And yet it was obvious that the past three days with Asami had passed very swiftly; lying clean in simple, rough sheets and trying to fall asleep, Akihito could reconjure the haze of sweet, red wine clinking in beautiful crystal when Asami had dined and drank with him; the smell of cedar and pine in the airy, luxurious quarters. Akihito had noted how the structure was fairly typical with the traditional sensibilities, even while the interior was filled with curious, foreign innovations and furnishings. And there was that secret room that Asami had taken him in on the first night, dark and obscured, beyond one of those wooden walls...

Akihito groaned and buried his face into the mattress, but his hand inched towards his belly and he bit his lip in shame. He wanted to forget; he was trying his darndest to. But he had been held by those strong, muscular arms on those evenings, driven mad with pleasure for those hours; enveloped in a heat that was beginning to flare again.

Part of him recoiled; he should have been worrying about how Kou and Takato were holding up and whether his mistress was safe from any risk that Akihito had inadvertently placed her in. The thought of how helpless he was made him frustrated and he was warm with a sudden flush of heat, so he slipped his hand down a bit further, hissing to keep a name from leaving his lips, as if it would be kept from his mind.

X

The leader of the search party had entered the office as quietly as he would leave. Stealth was just another tool in this man’s arsenal, but he had sworn loyalty to Asami Ryuichi and now bowed to receive further instructions.

“Continue trailing him.” Asami ordered. He barely looked up from the scroll that he had been perusing, but there was irritation in his expression. “Until I give notice to cease.”

“Understood, Asami-sama.”

Kirishima bit back a sigh and handed Asami the next report. Kirishima wasn’t exactly used to people disappearing from this compound, given that this place was fairly isolated on a mountain and was guarded quite well.

The men selected to work for Asami certainly knew how to hold their tongues, but no doubt, they all operated under the assumption that Takaba Akihito was a boy whore traded as some business favour or another. It wouldn’t have been the first time that Asami Ryuichi was offered a pretty little plaything by his business associates and other sycophants alike, but it was the first time that anybody had seen Asami bring one back into his stronghold and keep him in his personal quarters.

That was probably why the guards had been a little lax because Akihito didn’t seem like the sort who could run fast or far – granted, Kirishima had observed that he hadn’t even been able to walk properly on the first morning of his stay here. Besides, a few whispered that it was the little rat’s fortune to have been picked up by Asami, because Asami could offer nearly anything and wasn’t prone to taking just any consort. Most would have rightfully assumed that Akihito was there willingly, and would not leave of his own accord.

Not that many had really laid eyes on the spitting, furious Akihito either; only a few servants had been allowed into Asami’s quarters to help Akihito clean and dress during his short stay here. But the kid could eat like a horse. He had been initially suspicious of the food offered on the first morning, but had proceeded to gobble up every morsel passed his way after that. If anything, Akihito had seemed satisfied once his belly was fully, and proved to be of fair temper. Kirishima had personally witnessed Akihito greeting Asami cheerfully enough on the third evening.  Nobody, least of all Asami, had expected Akihito to vanish.

Kirishima sighed and pushed up his glasses, wondering when Asami would erupt. There were tiny signs that few would have noted, except for people like Kirishima who had served Asami for all their lives.

There was the small wrinkle between that dark brow, the tightness in the jaw, and the haste with which Asami went though the reports and scrolls. The businesses, legal and illegal, were doing well and Asami was no less in control than the day before. There had been some disruption to the schedule that Kirishima had spent so much time arranging; but for meeting Takaba Akihito, Asami ought to have been in another province by now. It was just as well that this town was one of Asami’s main strongholds. Even if Asami never spent much time here, the compound was well equipped and carefully maintained. Not much could be said of every other stronghold, but Asami had far too many to visit and scrutinise anyway.

The boy had only been here for three days and yet Asami had seemed to crave his company and returned to this town to visit every evening since capturing him, ensuring the best food and care for what Kirishima thought of as more of an untrained street urchin than a potential consort, as striking as the boy was. There had been plenty of stunning women and men laid at Asami’s feet before, equally well-versed in refined poetry and the guttural language of bed, so his choice seemed baffling. In any case, Kirishima knew better than to question Asami’s taking to Takaba Akihito.

In the meantime, the search party would be continuing its work, tailing Akihito as he headed south, apparently trying to go towards yet another town. The kid was surprisingly quite fast, having headed down the mountain and slipping past the edge of this town within half a day. He had even managed the feat without horses or a carriage, somehow slipping past some of the patrolling guards. Naturally, Asami had ordered that the men be replaced with others, although Kirishima recognised the curl of indulgence on Asami’s lip at that time.

“Next.” Asami said, and Kirishima scrambled to pass him yet another report.

It was obvious that Asami wanted Takaba Akihito, but the real question was whether Asami wanted him dead or alive.

X

Asami was not a patient man by nature, although his trade had demanded such a quality from time to time. As he trained, methodically slashing into the air, he tried to keep his mind focused on perfecting the form and sparing no detail to honing the swordplay. Marksmanship with the German firearms were for another day, but there was nothing like getting back to the basics for disciplining the body and mind.

The beads of sweat trickled down his face and chest, his shirt soaked and tied around his waist as he trained. He was feverish at the thought of finding his wayward Takaba and disciplining him properly, but he would be patient. Patience, as Asami’s parent had said, was a virtue. And that had been why Asami remembered this so well and killed his parent only ten years later, when it was time for Asami to rise and lead.

The years of Asami’s youth had been sufficiently complex with Asami learning from local and foreign tutors alike. Travelling abroad wasn’t so common then as it had become, but his foster parent was one of the richer leaders, quite far-sighted and able to sense that change was in the wind. So Asami had learnt well and risen quickly in the ranks, orchestrating the take down of various major gangs by the time he was twenty-seven, and rising to the court’s favour at the same time. The rest of the years had been a blur of travelling and building up his strongholds. It hadn’t been long before Asami felt all was ready, so he took charge of the group and thanked his foster parent before killing him, as was often the way. Of course, Asami had never doubted the life that he had been brought into, and so he forged on and removed those in his path methodically and without too much consideration.

As Asami moved, lunging and repeating the steps, he decided that Akihito was like nobody else that Asami had met before, defiant and zesty, fierce and somehow innocent, strangely unafraid of Asami and the power that he stood for.

In the morning after Akihito’s capture, Asami had risen early, gazing at the sleeping Akihito curled in the sheets. The stirrings of his loins had been strong, even against the standards of Asami’s libido, but the boy had seemed so content and deep in his sleep that Asami had preferred to simply watch. Eventually, Asami had been forced to move off for business, but he’d left instructions for Suoh and the other men to guard Asami’s quarters. He had ordered that Akihito complete a painting.

Then when Asami returned in the evening to visit Akihito, he was presented the new painting of the maiko in orange, lips red and her fingers pressed over the strings of the musical instrument. Apparently, Akihito had complied, obviously wary and resentful, but anybody would have feared for his life and hoped to be let off. The piece had een technically wonderful with the dimension that the best painting materials lent it, but even better was the sight of a freshly-bathed Akihito swathed in a woman’s fine robe and beneath it, a translucent one for lining.

Asami had half-expected Akihito to throw a tantrum over being mocked, but Akihito had apparently chosen cleanliness over other considerations, whereby those were the only items of clean clothing that Asami had permitted the servants to lay out for Akihito. The picture of a beautiful youth in bright colours and the stunning embroidery of flowers and cranes was incredibly desirable, especially when coupled with Asami’s knowledge that the boy had been provided no loincloth to wear under the lining robe.  

Akihito had been so naive, asking for mercy in exchange for the painting. “I’ve finished the painting, so let me leave now. I won’t tell anybody.”

Pink in the cheeks and still unable to meet Asami in the eye, Akihito tried to negotiate, but Asami had only smiled. Asami had lifted Akihito’s chin, watching the fear and discomfort deepen as Asami undid chords of the rich robe, letting those fall with the painting.

By that time, the servants and other men had been ordered to stand down, but Asami’s heart had burned with a strange possessiveness at the thought of anybody else dressing Akihito and placing that robe on his creamy shoulders.

That evening, Asami had taken him again, without implements and without any of the toys that Asami could have used. That could wait, because Akihito had proven capable of being as sweet as he was feisty, clinging and hugging onto Asami during their foreplay, long sleeves folding like butterfly’s wings on the ground as Asami parted open the robes and laved a road down Akihito’s trembling form.

They’d shared a deep, passionate kiss, right before Asami had flipped him onto his fours, torn off the thin lining robe and pressed bruising marks on those round cheeks, spreading those to locate that little pink pucker and press a kiss on it. It had still been puffy and swollen from the previous night, but then Asami had tongued and sucked at the tight ring of muscle, enjoying the whimpers and cries from his boy’s mouth, then digging and thrusting his tongue into the tight entrance until it was sopping wet and ready to receive more. It hadn’t been long before Asami scorched his way into Akihito’s body, pounding and ramming hard the way that Asami suspected Akihito enjoyed. Akihito had whimpered uintelligibly, half-formed words falling from those lips about how it hurt, how large Asami was, for Asami to stop, for Asami to move deeper, how good it was; his knees raised so high those could have met his nose, his ankles dangling above his head.

If he wanted to be honest, it offended Asami that Akihito had chosen to leave. Asami was a proud man, but he was skilled enough in such matters to recognise what they had shared; Akihito was greedy, begging for kisses and running his slender fingers through Asami’s hair when Asami moved from one nipple to another, suckling and biting hard in turn. Akihito was inexperienced and that was obvious to Asami, but he was naturally sensuous and apparently a natural at lovemaking; by the end of the second night, he was willingly spreading his thighs and arching up to take more of Asami’s sex, moaning for more and opening like a consummate whore. He hardly protested when Asami insisted on cumming in him and even let Asami urge him to orgasm easily – it was impossible that Akihito had acted out his pleasure on those evenings.

And yet, Takaba Akihito had left and escaped after the third night. It was probably Asami’s oversight – he hadn’t expected Akihito to pretend to fall asleep after multiple and vigorous bouts of exercise, not when Akihito had seemed to welcome Asami quite eagerly that evening. But he’d slipped off into the night when Asami had been fast asleep, as stealthy as a cat, taking a guard out and stealing off with the guard’s robes, no less. When Asami had woken up in the dead of the night to cooled sheets, he hadn’t actually been worried at first – Akihito was unlikely to go far as the compound was large and guarded, situated in a thick forest on a mountain. But Akihito had. The search party had reported that Akihito went as far as the south of the town and was also trying to procure a horse by trading a silver ornament that he’d nicked from Asami’s quarters.

Asami was panting by the time he paused his practice and set his wooden training sword at the side. His muscles were pulsing and his arousal was only growing stronger. All things considered, it would be relatively easy to catch up to Akihito and punish him; the next town and the next was part of Asami’s stronghold. In fact, most of this province was under his control and Asami could have sent word to lay a trap for Akihito.

But Asami was annoyed, very annoyed.

It was almost refreshing.

X

Akihito was shovelling hay in the stables when the kindly innkeeper dropped by to have a word with him. The innkeeper's giggling, young grandchildren went running off when they were shouted at to leave the stable worker alone and so Akihito stood up, sweating but smiling, hay still down his collar where he’d allowed the kids to sneak up on him and try to stuff it down his shirt.

“Leave my helper alone!” the innkeeper called after them. “You’ve been badgering him all afternoon!”

“No, no” Akihito said, sweaty and flushed, but completely at ease. “I was just trying to draw animals for the children, because they said that they couldn’t keep pets in the inn.”

“Certainly they can’t, I’ll not have a dog or cat ruining this wood! Now, Takano-kun, you don’t need to work so hard, you know?” The old innkeeper patted him on the shoulder and handed him a cup of water. “Don’t need to indulge the little ones so much, you’ll make me seem like a grumpy old man next to a young man with sunshine pouring out of his ears and eyes like you.”

“Not at all! I enjoy spending time with children. And you were so good to give me a job; I’m just doing my best to do my work properly.” Akihito smiled, downing the water quickly and beginning to roll up his sleeves again. “I need to save up, so it’s good to work hard. Anyway, you’re short-handed, so I supposed I came by at the right time.”

“Indeed!” The wizened old man looked at him fondly and took the cup back. “You know, it’s strange that there are so many people who suddenly came to stay at this inn – it’s not usual for this time of the year, but I suppose we’ll have to manage.”

“It’s more business for you!” Akihito laughed merrily. “Not all provinces are doing as well as this one.”

“Oh, you were from another province, weren’t you? Up north, perhaps? When you’re flustered, I can hear it – I guessed that there was something a bit different in your dialect. That day when I saw your drawings, you got so embarrassed!”

“Oh, right.” Akihito hastily began shovelling again. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to sound less like that.”

The innkeeper chided him. “Come now, it’s no matter, Takano-kun.”

Akihito had supplied the innkeeper with a different name, careful not to make the same mistake twice. He had even gone so far as to procure a strong dark pigment that was normally used for dyeing cloth; it had stained his fingers for days after, but his hair and brows were a murky dark colour that would last for some time. Anyway, it had been three weeks since Akihito had helped his mistress escape and a week since he’d escaped Asami’s stronghold, it was easy to get complacent but he needed to take extra care. As Akihito was coming to believe, the world outside the pleasure district that he’d grown up in was just as dangerous, possibly even more so.

On the night before he’d taken Hatsugiku’s place in the oiran’s greeting room, he had found his mistress wan and miserable, not even bothering to put rouge on her cheeks and lips. She had been drinking more frequently by then, her robes crumpled in the stifling air of the summer evening, hours away from the customers visiting. She didn’t admit it, but Akihito had grown up under her care and so he had watched her enough with one particular man and knew that she was growing tired of the glittering, floating life.

His mistress had never revealed what she really thought of the life that she, along with so many others, had been sold into. It was just as well that she was full of pride and could even be spiteful when her position and the little that she owned was at stake – it was easier to survive in that world when you didn’t care about your curtailed freedoms and lived each day in those vibrant, attractive colours. But Hatsugiku had been somehow protective of him and refused to let him be sold, insisting to the owners that he was the only dresser and servant that she could tolerate, even though he wasn’t the best by any measure, was clumsy and made plenty of mistakes.

And so Akihito had remained by her side for all those years and realised, that evening, that there was a man who honestly loved her for more than the face that she presented to the world. That man had had asked her to leave and start a new life elsewhere, but he was only a middle-class merchant with not enough land to buy one of the top courtesans of that town, poor and rough as that town generally was.

Akihito had instinctively registered that every day she spent in the pleasure quarters brought her closer to inevitable expiry. Every oiran and their young sisters-in-waiting knew that for all their prettiness and hard-practised skill at entertaining, they lived a life of risk and emotional neglect. They would die like any other person, if not sooner from disease or abuse, then from heartbreak and time. Anyway, there were rumours that the oiran was a threatened breed in the larger towns elsewhere; they were too expensive and too opulent for most and it was becoming more common to hire geishas for entertainment instead. Already, as Hatsugiku had remarked, the world was floating on without them.

So that summer night, Akihito had told her of his plan to help her leave. At first, she’d laughed and called it a silly dream, because they’d been stuck in these places and knew of no other world.

“I tried to leave once when I had been about your age,” she had said, “But I returned. I have no other skill apart from entertaining – like this.”

“You can learn!” Akihito had insisted. “Look, you can embroider, surely that’s something?”

She had looked at him with pity in her face. “Such a young boy to be trying to talk like an adult.”

But Akihito had been relentless and convinced her to take that chance and so they had eventually traded robes. As planned, Kou and Takato, two of his close friends, had escorted her out of the pleasure quarters, just as if she was just another servant or labourer like them and Akihito.

In turn, Akihito had donned the elaborate wig and courtesan’s robes, holding a fan against his painted lips and powdered face for the next few hours, trying to buy time for Hatsugiku. There had been a long-time customer, Sakazaki, who had bought the remainder of the night, a vile, oily man who had always leered at Akihito even while buying Hatsugiku’s time. It had been easy to feel like it was an opportunity for retaliation; Akihito had whispered encouragement in a breathy, high-pitched voice and dared the man to down drink after drink to prove his ardour. But things had gone awry and the man didn’t get sleepy; he got more worked up and had pounced on Akihito soon enough. Akihito had tried to scramble away, but the robes were too messy, dammit, and Sazaki had reached in between Akihito’s legs and found something of a surprise. Not that Sakazaki had cared; perhaps he was too drunk to registered anything, for he had groped at Akihito and nearly-slobbered on him.

So Akihito had thrown a punch at him, but the robes were heavy and Sakazaki turned out to be vicious enough to take a lacquer tray and break it over Akihito’s head. He had struck at Akihito again and again, screaming about not getting his money’s worth if he couldn’t screw a warm body that night, and in panic, Akihito had seized a small fruit knife from nearby and tried to defend himself.

The escape had been quite hasty and so Akihito hadn’t had time to check up on Kou and Takato before hightailing it out of that town. It was depressing, remembering all this and the encounters thereafter. Those were just part of his currently-languishing plans to learn more about the world and paint his dreams.

“Takano-kun? Takano-kun?”

“Ah – sorry!” Akihito had been so intent on his thoughts that he hadn’t realised he wasn’t answering the innkeeper. “Sorry, what did you say?”

“I was saying, the north towns are dangerous. Why, there was this bounty I saw the other day – apparently, even the women are capable of treachery and robbing! Even an oiran tried to rob her customer!”

“What?” Akihito blanched.

“Oh, there’s a new notice that’s being circulated around town. Seems that there was a famous courtesan from a town up north, who attacked her customer and ran off; she’s at large now and that customer’s men are looking for her. He was a powerful landowner, you know? He said he was drugged that night and that she robbed him and stabbed him. You wouldn’t have thought that she was capable of that; the portrait of her is really quite beautiful. Have you seen it?”

“No.” Akihito managed.

“You should, looks like a beauty.” The innkeeper gave a low whistle. “It’s suspected that she had accomplices – her servants have gone missing, so while they aren’t really suspects, the authorities from the north province are keeping a lookout for them.”

“Oh!” Akihito said, quite horrified. The authorities had apparently caught up to the events of that summer night, and he despaired at whether he would be able to meet Kou and Takato safely by the southernmost town.

“Well, finish up and come indoors. Take a bath too; before all those guests get back and want to use it. Oh, and change into something presentable, I’ll need your help serving the guests their meals later.”

Takaba was still trying to regain a semblance of control. “S-sure.

“Oh, and make sure you do things carefully, Takano-kun. These guests are particular; I’m surprised that they even wanted to visit this humble abode of mine. Must be the family recipes and the bath water; I swear that it’s the same source, but our inn has the best value for service.”

“Of course. I’ll try my best.” Akihito was barely listening.

X

The food at this inn wasn’t half-bad, Asami decided, even if the rooms were a bit small. Putting a sliver of fresh fish to his lips and chewing slowly, Asami thought that even the sake was surprisingly good, and the service so far had been excellent, if not, thoroughly expected.  

“I hope that what we’ve prepared is to your liking,” the innkeeper said.

“It most certainly is.” Asami looked at the server next to the innkeeper and selected another sliver of fish, considering all the options before him. This town was certainly prospering – it was such a shame that Asami intended to stay just a night. If all things proceeded according to plan, he would be on his way back north, to Shion, where his main stronghold was located. Takaba Akihito would be coming with him, whether the boy wanted to or not.

“So what do you prefer?” Asami said calmly. “Do you want to stay the night here, or would you prefer to start travelling back?”

The innkeeper cocked his head in confusion. “Apologies, good sir, I don’t understand.”

“No need to apologise, I was addressing your helper.”

The innkeeper stared at Akihito, who was kneeling and arranging the dishes at top speed, willing himself to be invisible from start to finish. “Takano-kun?”

Akihito could feel his ears burning up, but he kept his head low, refilling the teapot and willing this bad dream to end right there. But Asami was laughing, low and sarcastic, and Akihito’s wish that somebody would tell him that this was all a joke was apparently going unfulfilled. Akihito had served the line of guests at the inn, bringing in food with the innkeeper and the other helpers quite cheerfully. Of course, he had also taken care of plenty of horses brought by these guests before that, including a gorgeous, sleek dark stallion that would have blended into any midnight; he had not guessed that in the final room down the corridor, Asami Ryuichi had been waiting to be served his dinner.

“If you could just leave us alone for a while.” Asami was saying to the innkeeper. “I’d like to discuss something with your Takano-kun.”

“Oh! By all means, Ishida-sama...”

The innkeeper got up in a hurry and excused himself, sliding the shoji open with much haste. That was the effect that Asami had on most people and Akihito knew that by now. Actually, if Asami had used his real name, the innkeeper would have probably been far more nervous, but Akihito suspected that Asami had also used an alias in a strange mirroring of actions. Theirs was a cat and mouse game; it had been from the start.

“Excellent service, I must say.” Asami drawled. “I’m looking forward to enjoying a fulfilling meal.”

“This will be all the dishes that our esteemed guest will be expecting tonight,” Akihito said in a rush, holding his tray against his chest as if to shield himself from that golden gaze. He recited the polite niceties with much speed, tripping over his words in his hurry. “You will not be disturbed; please let us know when you require service.”

But as Akihito tried to move off with the innkeeper, who had already slid the shoji shut and made himself scarce, Asami murmured, “Such a quaint place and such sweet children.”

“You wouldn’t!” Turning back and glaring at Asami and the sword by his side, Akihito could feel his fists balling up. He was suddenly aware of the long line of guests waiting in the other rooms; they were without doubt, all Asami’s men. “Are you threatening me?”

“Yes.” Asami said. He continued to eat, carefully tasting everything with a controlled relish. “So you admit that you are Takaba, then? Why did you do that to your hair – don’t you know that I would have recognised you a mile away, no matter what you did?”

Akihito hissed and took one step back, quite ready to bolt. “What do you want?”

“What you agreed to.” Asami smiled very slightly, all the warmth of a deep winter contained in that wolf-like countenance. “I thought we had reached an understanding, Takaba. You were to stay put and produce artworks for my perusal and pleasure.”

“No, we don’t have an understanding!” Akihito glowered at Asami from a vantage point, but Asami continue eating where he was seated, completely unaffected by Akihito’s growing temper. “Sure, you can throw all the good food and the best pigments at me, but I don’t need your stinkin’ _patronage_.” He jabbed thumb in his direction, eyes narrowed. “I’m independent and I’ll do what I please!”

“You didn’t seem to dislike your time with me.” Asami countered. He spared a diffident look at Akihito and yet there was something lurking in those eyes that made Akihito feel a bit weak in the knees. There was even sweat building beneath Akihito's collar - it wasn't fair. But the asshole was so handsome and intriguing; he was almost beautiful with his muscular form and thick, inky hair, and he was cold to others and domineering and obviously capable of being cruel, just so the more Akihito learnt about him, the more Akihito realised that he was unlike anyone that Akihito had met before.

“You might have used me.” Akihito said, voice faltering a little. The memory of their bodies fusing and melting together swam in his mind for a second and he had to shake his head to clear his thoughts. “But you can’t win – I’m my own person. You’ll never break my spirit.”

“Don’t make pointless arguments.” Asami said, and there was no room for argument in his voice. “Stop fooling around outside here.”

“No! This is as much my air as it’s yours; I’m not part of some floating world where you can buy somebody and take their will; I belong to myself and you’re not to interfere!”

Asami stopped eating, set down his chopsticks, and looked up directly at Akihito. It was a strange look and Akihito found his breath hitching. In that moment, Akihito had a premonition that things were already out of his control; that a meeting with someone like Asami Ryuichi was enough trouble to last a lifetime.

“So you’re just going to live day to day, scrounging around for work and food, drawing on scrap paper for children and wasting all that potential?”

“I’m my own person,” Akihito insisted, still clutching the tray to himself like Asami’s words were daggers to his flesh. “You can’t tell me what to do. In fact, I have the mind to set the authorities on you – I’m sure you’re up to no good all the time, you’re a black-hearted, black-bellied man. I could catch up with your secrets and tell people, and then you’d be prey and meat for the dogs.”

Asami only smirked. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to act before that then.”

“What?”

And in a quick movement, much quicker than Akihito had expected, Asami had stood up, took one stride over and grabbed Akihito’s hand, twisting it in such a way that Akihito let go of the tray, cried out in shock and pain and found himself being easily tossed to the ground. Akihito kicked out once, but Asami reached down to his foot and caught it easily.

“Asami, you bastard!”

“Don’t struggle,” Asami said coolly, then tugged open Akihito’s collar and bared his teeth in a smile that made Akihito tremble. “You’ll just break the dishes.”

X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was watching the drama Viewfinder and suddenly realised that Akihito had been with Asami for 3 days before reappearing. Yes, Asami kept him around for 3 days after their first encounter. 3 days, y'all.
> 
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> Drop a comment, go on! :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deal is struck.

He was already doing his darndest to struggle, because damn it all if he didn't put up a decent fight to get away from this manipulative bastard. Akihito managed to free one hand and he struck at what he thought was Asami's face, but the man moved quickly while retaining his grip and all Akihito had managed was to strike at a shoulder and do a partial head-butt with some air. No damage was done - Asami tore open Akihito's shirt and retrieved that long pouch where Akihito kept his dagger, tossing it easily away from them as if this was an everyday occurrence.

"You can't just do this to me!" Akihito protested, quite enraged. "I won't stand for it!"

"Nobody ever said you had to do anything standing up." Those eyes gleamed at him and it was almost as if Akihito had been pinned down by the giant paw of a black panther.

"You're a sick bastard!" Akihito renewed his efforts, thrashing about as much as he could and getting redder and redder in his cheeks. "Don't you dare threaten me about those kids - I'll bring you down, if that's the last thing I do."

But before Akihito could say another word, Asami got up abruptly, pulling Akihito by his collar to his feet so quickly that Akihito sputtered and gasped once. But Akihito recovered quickly enough and struggled, twisting out of Asami's grasp.

Like a rabbit, he skittered to the other end of the room, putting sufficient distance between him and the powerful man, intending to run off to the stables. But he thought of the innkeeper and the children and halted. He didn't think that Asami would really stoop so low, but what if, just what if -

The thought made him cold and he turned to look at Asami, who had been watching and waiting as if he could read Akihito to the very last thought. It was terrifying.

Asami's lips quirked. "Takaba, you have more guts than I thought."

Sure, Takaba Akihito had demonstrated an alarming lack of self-preservation and enough indiscriminate bluster to power one of the firearms that Asami imported into the country. But he was clever, brave and loyal and Asami found the stirrings of some respect for that.

But Akihito didn't understand the compliment and just glared, confused and upset. To his horror, he even felt hot angry, tears prickling at the back of his eyes. "What is your goal, exactly? All I ever did was to paint and try to make a living - what is up with you people? It's not my fault that I tried to make something beautiful and snuck into your stupid stuck-up teahouse - sure, maybe I didn't deserve to be there and to try to compete with all those experts, but I'd never stoop so low as to harm children and a poor old man!"

Something shifted in Asami's face, so quickly that Akihito almost never saw it.

"I suppose you could say that you intrigued me at first. But you made a fool of my subordinates and I daresay myself."

The usual coldness and inscrutable countenance was in place and it was as if Akihito had only imagined that a man like Asami could be capable of pity. It riled him even more, because he had never been more vulnerable than with this person, whom he still knew next to nothing about.

"You left the door wide open." Akihito spat. "You made me a captive and you would have continued; I don't take that from anyone, not least a meanie like you!"

Well, that was new, Asami thought, and he began to laugh, soft and low. He had been called many things, but 'meanie' was not one of them - it seemed to be a term that the innkeeper's grandchildren, presently lying safe and sound in their beds, would tease and taunt each other with.

He looked at the trembling, pale Akihito who was caught in between bolting and preparing to fight tooth and nail, and felt an unusual sense of pride. Then again, Asami believed that this entire slate of events was based on a whim and that he would tire of this pursuit quite soon.

"The offer still stands." Asami said. To his surprise, he found himself bargaining - it was not something that he had expected to do, but he assumed that this would be enough to sate his unprecedented appetite. "All you need is to spend a month with me, doing as I say, obeying. I'll hire tutors to help you hone your craft. You have my word."

Akihito sneered, putting aside his bewilderment that Asami had wagered as much as his word. "And be a kept pet? No, thank you."

"Call it what you will." Asami looked at him intently. "If you go on your merry way, the police will have worse things to accuse you of being. Be my guest, in that regard."

Akihito actually flinched. "What?"

"You stole from my property - that silver ornament was an antique, one-of-a-kind that would pay for more than a few years' worth of meals."

"No!" Akihito was part-relieved, part-scandalised, and mostly horrified at the new threat. "I only got a few weeks worth of wages for that!"

Asami gave him a dark look, part-annoyed and part-amused that a pricey, although hideous heirloom had been sold off for much less than it was truly worth. "You didn't bargain hard enough."

"A-anyway, you wouldn't dare tell the police that I stole that - I'll tell them that you kidnapped me!"

Undeterred, Asami took a few steps forward, knowing fully well that their cat-and-mouse game would continue for as long as he liked, knowing that Akihito would not bolt so easily now. "You could tell them far worse."

He watched Akihito's eyes dart towards the room's only entrance again, but those refocused on him when Asami reached to his chin and pulled Akihito's face to gaze up at his. It was satisfying to look into those clear, marvelously expressive blue eyes and see the indignation settle into a partial resignation.

"Come." Asami said. "There's a long way to go."

X

That evening, Akihito ground down most of his protests and obeyed, as he had promised, scrubbing Asami’s back.

“I don’t do this.” Akihito grumbled. “I’m not that kind of onsen worker.”

“To the right.” Asami said, obviously enjoying tormenting Akihito. “Three weeks and six days left.”

The place that Asami lived in made Akihito’s previous place of employment seem like a sad joke for a bathhouse, although Akihito was nervous at the silence and emptiness of Asami’s property.

The bastard just sat through the scrubbing, eyes closed and a knowing smile playing around his perfect lips as Akihito sweated and scrubbed and tried to avoid looking at anything but Asami’s back. He had no such luck in the end.

Akihito found himself being pulled to face Asami and the specific parts that Akihito had not wanted to deal with personally.

“The front too.” Asami said, as if Akihito was somehow blind or oblivious.

“For goodness’ sake.” Akihito mumbled. But then Asami shot him a warning look and so Akihito forced on his vacant smile – the same smile that he used when he had been tasked to usher in his mistress’ customers – and got to work. It was difficult, scrubbing at the muscled chest with its faint scars and the toned arms, because Asami was even more threatening up close. Asami had an amazing body, that much Akihito could admit, but it made him nervous all the same.

Then it was time for the abdomen and Asami moved an inch off the wooden stool, bringing himself closer to the kneeling Akihito, and Akihito felt his jaw slacken.

Asami’s amused eyes followed his. “Nothing new, I hope?”

“No.” Akihito said, throat dry. He forced his eye away, concentrating on a spot near Asami’s knee, then timidly began to wipe at it. Then Akihito got some warm water, dousing the thigh clean, trying not to look at Asami’s swollen erection. Eventually, he moved to the thigh, then the other, as cautious as when he’d first started. Then when it was done, Akihito stared up at Asami, who had been very still and watching.

It wasn’t fair. How could it be that Akihito wanted this? It didn’t make sense, nothing with this man really seemed to, but Akihito found himself bringing his lips to meet that warm, throbbing tip, closing his eyes as Asami’s heavy hand found its way into Akihito’s hair and pressed down. The length and girth of Asami's cock was almost too much and Akihito briefly realised that he had never considered this properly or done anything like this before, never mind that Asami had done this plenty of times to him. It wasn’t bad though, this feeling of being anchored down, fingers tugging in his scalp and the hardened shaft pressing against his tongue, a weight that Akihito could only barely manage to hold.

As he tried to hold Asami in his mouth, sucking almost instinctively as he heard Asami breathe slowly, growling low in his throat, Akihito felt his own hardness beginning to leak. Never mind the bath and being clean then – Akihito gasped once and Asami only slid himself in a little deeper, gagging Akihito.

The taste of Asami was strange and intoxicating, salty and bitter, thick and laced with something like sweetness. Akihito was choking and could feel his slack jaw widen a bit more at the intrusion. But he felt as if he were in a trance, sucking hard and trying to take more, trying to consume and conquer this man with the only way he knew how now; to beat Asami at his own game.

Already, he felt saliva beginning to dribble down his chin and then over Asami’s groin and heavy ballsack. But Asami’s eyes were unblinking, staring down as he lifted Akihito’s face, sliding his huge cock out a little, then back deeper into Akihito’s waiting mouth.

Asami’s voice was rough, so low and filthy, tweaking and massaging at Akihito’s ears. “Who’s your lover now?”

Akihito closed his eyes in flushed pleasure and simultaneous humiliation, moaning his denial, feeling Asami shudder a little as he rocked his hips slowly, making slow, steady love to Akihito’s mouth. Akihito sucked harder, then reached to cup at Asami and stroked at the taut, warm flesh of his balls. Soon, Asami was nearly bent double, thrusting at an increasingly erratic pace. So much for that fine, fine control. It was of some mollification to Akihito then, that Asami wasn’t as immune as he played this to be.

It took only a few more moments before Asami could feel himself tightening and he found Akihito sealing his lips over him as Asami exploded inside. It was more than Asami expected and he jerked himself from Akihito’s lips almost involuntarily, hissing as he shot his cum, thick and hot, all over Akihito’s stunned face.

Then Akihito was sitting back on his haunches, coughing and then swallowing, stunned at the force of Asami’s climax and his own. The heat of Asami's seed burned over his tongue and face, but then it cooled quickly, tacky and moist, and the smell and trace of Asami filled Akihito's nostrils. He found himself feverish once more, breathing deeply to regain some control. Gently, Asami's fingers found his chin and Akihito willingly parted his lips, opening his jaw to allow Asami to see.

"Not so simple, are you?" Asami murmured.

Akihito's eyelashes lowered and wet with unshed tears and seed, eyes half-lidded as Asami inspected him and the creamy deposit seeping into Akihito's tongue.

When Akihito thought he was ready to say something, perhaps to mock or to jeer, he gazed up. Instead, he found something in that gaze that brought him on his knees again, seeking Asami’s tip with his lips and bringing his mouth down to drink and lap at Asami's cock, greedily suckling at every last drop.

X

For the next few days, Akihito lived in limbo. He would wake at strange times, sometimes fairly late in the mornings, yawning and half-dreaming, almost expecting to be yelled at by somebody to start the day and to do the chores, to fetch the water and boil it for drinking and baths; for the robes to be laid out and for a dozen other things to be done. Then he would realise where he was and settle down, but then he would sometimes panic again and count and re-count the days.

Other times, he would be pulled back to consciousness, gasping, still in Asami’s hold, rear stretched thin around Asami's cock and hips shaking and snapping because the man could fuck for hours at an end. Then they would make love all over again, Akihito coming more than he thought possible, sometimes screaming himself into a blaze of hoarseness and pleasure, sometimes into a slow burn of need and sensuousness. Other times, he would wake and imagine that he had been exposed to a different side of Asami, a man locked in a deep sleep, tension gone from that handsome, chilling face, arms large and secure around Akihito. Akihito knew next to nothing about Asami, except that he was clearly powerful and somewhat above the system and laws of the land, but Asami never talked much about what he did and Akihito's understanding was full of contradictions and mystery.

It had been barely a month since he'd left his previous town, but that previous life seemed distant now. Akihito would wake in sheets still damp and moist from the night, hinting at Asami's warmth. Sometimes, he would lie there for as long as he could, a blush unconsciously spreading over his cheeks as he recounted the cumulative debauchery. If Akihito had grown up having almost a clinical understanding of what those around him often did for a living, he had never had such intimate knowledge before meeting Asami - never thought to have gained that level of understanding in a matter of days.

In his waking hours, he was no lonelier than he had been before, somehow amusing himself with trying to make the stoic Suoh and Kirishima laugh at his pranks. Then in the next few days, when Akihito was less disoriented, he played tricks on Asami too, partly out of pique, and partly to assert his identity. Asami usually never fell for those, but Asami punished him for those attempts in ways that Akihito didn’t even know how to begin recounting.

The art lessons had begun in the day with tutors, both local and foreign. It was clear by now, how powerful Asami really was. The tutors were artists themselves, renowned for being experts and groundbreakers in their various disciplines and privately annoyed at having to travel to teach some ward. But it was no use complaining; they were all either afraid or beholden to Asami, and most found themselves quite happy to teach Akihito after a while. He was, as most admitted, a quick learner.

Akihito had been surprised on the first morning when he had been roused by a manservant and told to get ready for those lessons, because Akihito hadn't expected Asami to keep his end of the bargain. But there had been one tutor after another in the course of that day, and those kept Akihito busy learning. They were all watched over by the guards that Asami stationed over Akihito's quarters in Asami's absence, but Akihito was so enthralled by all the new ways to create that he almost forgot to be resentful.

Under his tutors, Akihito learned about various wood printing techniques, watercolours, pastels and all sorts of new styles that people from the West were dealing with. And because he learned so much, he half-despaired at how ignorant he had been. By the time the first week had passed, Akihito was painting with a fury and passion that he had never understood before. He sketched like a half-crazed person in the day, tiring himself out with those exercises, believing that Asami would tire of him before their agreement was over. But each evening, Akihito was instructed and assisted to bathe and prepare, and what Asami demanded, Asami received.

Asami wasn't a gentle lover, but Akihito had known of no other and Akihito couldn't begin to imagine another as a basis. For that matter, Akihito wasn't sure that he was a lover at all, because Asami seemed indifferent to Akihito's person, save for their hours of coupling.  In the day, Asami left Akihito to his own devices, but the nights and most wee hours of the mornings were for Asami. It made Akihito disconcerted to realise that he craved seeing Asami even during the day, but they had grown into something of an uneasy truce in the first week of Akihito's futile efforts.

Then there were some nights when Akihito would curl up against Asami’s chest and bury his face into the crook of Asami’s neck and shoulder. And he would wake and hate himself and Asami.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for hanging in there with me. Please leave a comment, I'll do my best to respond.


End file.
